Wind on the Water

There are a time and place I sometimes wish to recapture. I am at Newport Naval Hospital; I’m waiting for the day when life on active duty in the Navy ends. Close to the end, I am in-between, detached from my last assigned employ, but not yet a civilian, still in uniform, but with only scanty assigned duties.
Today I stand by the low sea wall looking at flotsam and jetsam that the tide washed in. I look across the bay and focus on the little “cats paws” white in the water from the wind. The full breeze last night cleared several days worth of low clouds and fog. I can see for miles, but I can’t see my next day or beyond. So I cup my hands around my ears to make a seashell of my ears and pretend I can understand the wind rushing through.
Sometime, the next day or two, I’ll sign some papers, turn over my seabag and depart for Boston. My future will be like the breeze and the sea; inerrant, but unknown.

The water has much to say, but I am not always listening or capable of hearing what it has to tell me.

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